


Trade-Off

by Reality 2_0 (reality_2_0)



Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-11 19:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13531056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reality_2_0/pseuds/Reality%202_0
Summary: set January 26, 1996; After her testimony, she's heading home to relax.





	Trade-Off

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, HRC wrote something else in Living History, but she had to stick with a PG-rated story. I do not.

Having left the vultures behind, she sank into the back seat of the limousine, closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She had made it, had survived with her head held high. Her dignity had a few bruises, but was a lot less damaged than the right wing had intended it to be. Her state of mind and her emotions, though, were a completely different matter. She felt hurt, insulted, victimized.

Although the immediate tension was deflagrating now that the session was over, she would need help relaxing, shutting off her mind for a while and ignoring the hostility she, they were facing on a daily basis. She couldn’t wait to get back home, into different clothes, away from the prying eyes of the public and the media.

As the car sped through the streets of DC, she remained quiet, looked out of the window, albeit unseeing.

She was jolted out of her reverie by the car door being opened by a Secret Service agent at the doors of the White House. Absent-mindedly nodding her thanks, she got out of the car and hurried inside where she headed straight to the residence, confident that her husband would be informed of her return.

She wanted to hide from the world, needed to get out of her clothes because she felt dirty, constricted, like she would suffocate soon.

Entering the bedroom, she dropped her shoes next to the door, switched on a small lamp, threw her coat onto the armchair, the jacket followed a few seconds later. She had pulled the shirt over her head, dropping it on top of the growing pile, and was just about to unzip her skirt when the door opened behind her, announcing her husband’s arrival.

As she turned, she could see on his face a variety of questions. He wanted to know how it had gone, how she had been treated by the court and the media, wanted to know how she was holding up. Before he could utter a word, though, she shook her head.

“Later,” she half-stated, half-asked. “Right now, just…”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. He instinctively knew what she was about to request, what she needed, and stepping closer, spread his arms invitingly.

With a sigh, she sank into his embrace. Without her wearing heels, their difference in height was even more pronounced. She relished being dwarfed by him like that, loved that he could almost entirely engulf her, shield her from the world and thereby reduce her own one to them, to him. She drew strength and comfort from him. There was no other place where she felt more loved and secure. It was, he was what she needed right now to relax, to let go, to allow the walls she had erected to crumble.

“It could have been worse,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest. She got what she wanted, it only seemed fair to give him what he wanted. Hugs for information – not a bad trade, especially under these circumstances. So she continued to relay the events of the last hours to him while he tenderly rubbed her bare back, nuzzled her head.

Once she fell silent, having nothing more of immediate importance to say, the hand that had been stroking her back moved lower, taking the zipper with it in the motion. With one swift move, he sent her skirt to the floor, leaving her in her underwear and pantyhose.

As he kissed a trail along her neck, he unclasped her bra and pushed the straps off her shoulders.

As she had wanted to get out of her clothes and his plan seemed even better than hers, she cooperated without any hesitance, dropping the piece of lingerie where it would fall.

The fabric was instantly replaced by his hands while his mouth covered hers in a deep, passionate yet slow kiss that echoed the touch of his hands on her chest.

When she attempted to pull his shirt from his pants, though, she found herself pivoted around fast, her back pressed against his front, held in an embrace, her hands laced with his.

“Not right now, darling,” he breathed against her skin right under her ear. “I have to be in black tie and ready to leave in about an hour.”

She expressed her displeasure with a low growl. “Then why…”

“Because you don’t have to be anywhere tonight and don’t have to do anything but relax,” he explained quietly while showering her neck and jaw with kisses.

All the while, he slowly maneuvered them toward the lamp she had turned on early. Reaching out, he switched it off.

She turned her head to try to look at him in confusion. Mechanical sex in the dark wasn’t their MO. Looking each other in the eyes, seeing the expression of pleasure on the other’s face was part of the fun for them.

“I don’t feel like sharing,” was all he said in way of an explanation for his behavior.

A moment later when he pressed her hands against the cool glass of the bedroom window, she understood what he had referred to. They did not need anybody catching a glimpse of the First Lady in the nude, especially not with her husband’s hands roaming her body, one slipping underneath her pantyhose and panties.

Thanks to over two decades of experience, he knew exactly how to play her. And play he did.

“Enjoy the view,” he said as he encouraged her to spread her legs to give him better access to her and also to steady her position.

“Too fun-“ The last syllable drowned in a moan as he circled her clitoris with a finger tip.

Braced on her arms, she pushed her hips back against his pelvis, feeling his own arousal. However, he only allowed a brief contact before he put some distance between their lower bodies again.

Before she had a chance to be disappointed by this, he pushed a finger into her, effectively distracting her from anything other than the sensations he evoked.

The hand that wasn’t occupied between her legs covered her front – caressing her stomach, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples. There was no telling where it would go next and how long it would stay. It was maddening. Slowly but surely, he was driving her out of her mind – exactly where she had wished to go.

Inserting a second finger alongside the first one, he began to move them in her.

His mouth wasn’t idle either. Instead of wooing and wowing her with words, though, he kissed, nipped and licked his way across her upper back.

Focused on feeling, she unconsciously closed her eyes as sight seemed irrelevant at the moment. When she lowered her head, he halted all movement. Suddenly robbed of the stimulation, she opened her eyes and turned her head to him in irritation.

He didn’t say a word, merely raised an eyebrow and made a point of looking straight ahead at the Washington Monument.

She followed his line of vision, and the same moment, his fingers curled inside her.

She moaned loudly. He really wanted her to look at the beautifully-lit scenery of the stony representation of all that made their life hell right now while he fucked her brains out. It was a good metaphor, it felt naughty and a bit rebellious, but she nonetheless wanted to strangle him for it just a little bit.

All thought of punishing him, though, evaporated along with any coherency as he intensified the stimulation, focused his touch on her breasts, zoomed in on her neck with his lips, concentrated on her pleasure point rather than fleetingly touching it as if by accident.

He was pushing her buttons like the master he was. So it didn’t take much longer for her to tumble over the edge into a blissful orgasm that he drew out until she pleaded for him to stop because it was getting too much.

Then he carefully withdrew his hand from her pantyhose and picked her up, setting her down on the edge of the bed before closing the curtains and switching on the lamp on the nightstand while she tried to catch her breath.

With a kiss to her forehead, he kneeled down in front of her, and with some cooperation from her, peeled off the pantyhose.

“Thank you,” she said, referring to all his services since he had entered the room.

“I love you,” he replied, looking her in the eyes with an expression that could turn her into a puddle any day.

Cupping his face with her hands, she leaned down to kiss him deeply. “I love you, too, but as much as I’d love to keep you right now, I believe you have to hurry if you don’t want to be late to your last appointment.”

He glanced at the clock and cursed.

She laughed, happy that she could still draw his attention away from everything else, that she still ranked higher than spending an evening with a crowd.

“Do you think they’ll notice if we send Al instead?” he asked, running a hand up her leg until he was caressing the inside of her thigh. 

“Probably.”

“Damn,” he mock-sighed.

“So hurry.” She pushed him up. “And hurry back. I’ll be waiting for you.”

After one more kiss, he turned and walked to the door. She used the time to take off her panties.

“I won’t be late,” he promised as he was about to leave the room.

“You better not,” she replied, stretching her naked body on the bed – nothing like a good reason to motivate him. “Or I might have to start without you.”

With a groan, he slipped out of the door. He needed a cold shower before he could put on his tux. Not that there was any chance of getting the image out of his mind, but it would help coping with the physical effect his wife had on him. However, a few minutes of discomfort were a small price to pay for the improvement of her mood, and there was tonight to look forward to.

The End.


End file.
